


the shadow and the frame

by longtime_lurker



Series: find myself and what i became [1]
Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: 2013-2014 NHL Season, Body Shots, Broning, Crack, Denial, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Lesbian Sex, M/M, Mirror Sex, Sex Tapes, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longtime_lurker/pseuds/longtime_lurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>"Quit freaking out," Kaner says, breath hot in Jonny's ear. "We're both chicks right now, nothing gay about that."</p>
  <p>"Do you even listen to yourself?" Jonny mutters.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	the shadow and the frame

**Author's Note:**

> distracting myself from the shitshow that was Games 1 and 2 with some double sexswap fic! since that's one thing I don't think I've seen yet in this fandom?
> 
> fair warning, the porn-to-hockey ratio here is incredibly high. please excuse any outright errors, roll with some minor tweaking of canon details, and handwave the shit out of the central conceit making any scientific sense whatsoever. because it doesn't.
> 
> usual RPF disclaimers apply. this is definitely not actually why Kane and Toews had to sit out the end of the season, but it's way more fun to think about than the real reasons, so.
> 
> given the trope, this story necessarily deals with some thematic gender and sexuality issues; for more details check the (spoilery!) end notes.
> 
> title from [k.d. lang](https://soundcloud.com/jake-ridley/k-d-lang-shadow-the-frame-jake-ridley-remix).

"So it's _not_ a lower-body injury?" Jonny says, narrowing his eyes.

"Well," Q hedges, which is very unlike him, and Jonny's eyes narrow further. "Technically, his lower body's not in its normal condition."

"What does that _mean?_ ” Jonny demands, and when Coach continues with the uncharacteristic hesitancy, he throws his hands up. "Come on. Sir." He was raised Canadian, so the madder he gets the more polite he gets, on reflex. "I'm his captain, okay, I think I deserve to know why my star winger is supposedly out for the rest of the regular _season -“_

"Maybe you'd better go speak to him in person," Q suggests, and steps away from the door that separates them from Kaner and attendant medical staff. 

Jonny gives him what he hopes is a sufficiently weirded-out look before grasping the handle and yanking it open.

-

"Okay. Oh, Jesus. Okay, don't freak out," Jonny says, even though he himself is _totally freaking out,_ because when Kaner freaks out there tends to be crying, and he seriously can't deal with Kaner crying right now.

Certainly not on top of Kaner's - Jesus, Kaner's _tits_ , little but still pretty obvious through the towel that's wrapped tightly around him, and - presumably - a cunt to match, somewhere under there. Jonny really wishes that he wasn't having to think this much about what's between Kaner's legs under any circumstances. Oh _Jesus._

"I'm not," Kaner says, and although he looks even paler than he did when he was limping off the ice, he makes a game attempt at a smile. "I knew some dude in Juniors had this happen. They say it only ever lasts like two, three weeks? A month tops."

Jonny's shoulders immediately feel just that little bit lighter, because: "So you'll be back for playoffs."

"Should be." Kaner's flexing his hands, examining them. They, at least, look the same as ever. "I tried to convince them to let me keep playing like this, but -"

"- the press," Jonny realizes, already groaning at the prospect, "the public, if people found out -"

"Can't put the team through that," Kaner agrees tiredly. "Stan's got the doctors signing NDAs out there already." 

The UC is crawling with media and right now every single one of them must be dying to know about Kaner's supposed injury. Jonny doesn't put much faith in anybody's ability, not even Bowman's, to contain a visually obvious scandal like this, not these days with ever-present cameraphones. Not when the internet's already splashed with covert snaps of Kaner - dude Kaner - passed out in bars with not entirely dependable friends or hotel beds with not entirely trustworthy ladies.

"He says I'm gonna have to be on house arrest for a while," Kaner adds glumly. 

And the sooner that starts, the better, Jonny thinks. "Yeah, we should get you out of here." He glances nervously around. "You want security?"

Kaner waves a dismissive hand. "They'd just draw more attention." He looks up at Jonny and bats his lashes. It looks just as dumb as ever on his girl face. "So, wanna escort a lady home?"

When they gave Jonny the C, they never told him that his job duties might include getaway driver for suddenly-female teammates, but here he is.

"Get some clothes on, then," he says, getting up, "and let's dip already."

"Aye aye, mon capitaine," Kaner says in an atrocious accent, and drops the towel.

"Jesus Christ," Jonny says, squeezing his eyes shut just a split second too late. 

He hears Kaner asking mockingly, "Aw, Taze, this your first time seeing a naked woman for real?" 

"You forgetting that lap dance you bought me in Dallas?" There's the shushing noise of fabric being pulled over skin; Jonny keeps his eyes firmly closed. "And anyway, you _aren't_ a woman for real."

"That was a great night. Man was I drunk." Kaner's fondly reminiscent tone gets closer to Jonny's ear, and next second he's poking Jonny's bicep, hard. "Okay, okay, decent now."

Jonny opens his eyes. In his Adidas slides, baggy sweatpants and white t-shirt, Kaner still looks enough like himself to pass - marginally - to the casual observer, although if his braless nipples decide to perk up then they might be in trouble: that cotton is pretty damn thin.

Jonny closes his eyes again at the cognitive dissonance of envisioning perky nipples - normally an excellent feature of life on planet Earth - in conjunction with _Kaner._

"Oh, come on," Kaner says. "Am I _that_ fugly of a chick?"

He really isn't, that's the trouble, but Jonny's currently doing his best not to think about it either way.

"Let's just get you home, okay?" he says gruffly, and claps Kaner on the shoulder to steer him out the door, then remembers and drops his hand like a hot potato. 

Kaner gives him a pointed look, and laughs. "I think you're freaking out about this worse than I am, Jonny."

They keep their voices down and caps pulled low, shoulders hunched up and eyes to the ground, as they make for a service elevator that maintenance staff showed Jonny once, which eventually dumps them into a deserted back corridor. Its other end leads right to the rink itself, for emergency medical purposes or something, probably, and Jonny catches Kaner glancing longingly back at the tiny glimpse of bright white ice that's just visible through the inset windows in the double doors. 

He winces in sympathy; IR sucks enough when you're, you know, actually out injured.

"The timing could've been shittier, I guess," he says, trying to make Kaner feel better, because that's also one of his job duties. "I mean, we're already gonna make the playoffs -"

Kaner looks around frantically for wood to knock on. Finding none, he raps his knuckles against Jonny's skull instead, hissing, "Don't jinx it, dickbag."

Jonny rolls his eyes. Stats math doesn't lie, and superstitions are stupid.

"C'mon," he says, "at this point the only way we won't qualify is if the whole roster turns female, too." He pauses, wincing again. "Uh, I really hope that doesn't happen."

"They said it's super rare," Kaner assures him. 

"Better be," Jonny mutters. 

They've reached parking without incident, so that's a mercy, at least.

"My point is," Jonny says, remote-starting the engine with his key fob. "Could've happened _during_ playoffs, that would've been way worse."

"Could've happened during the off-season." Kaner slams the car door sulkily.

"Yeah, well." Jonny bumps their shoulders together across the divider, smiling at him. "Try and schedule it better next time, eh?"

"There's not gonna be a next time, actually," Kaner says, brightening, "they said it's a one-off thing, exclusively. Something about…developing immunity? Whatever." He waggles his eyebrows at Jonny. "I'll just have to enjoy it while I can."

He doesn't exactly look like he's enjoying any of this, least of all the loss of hockey, but Jonny's got to give him points for a good attitude.

"You do that," he says, shifting into reverse. "In the privacy of your own home."

-

It's fucking weird navigating the dark Chicago streets with a cute little blonde curled up in his shotgun seat who he _didn't_ pick up and _isn't_ taking home in hopes of banging. Kaner keeps shifting restlessly, like he's itchy in his new skin, but Jonny's just trying not to look directly at him for very long, and so they don't say a word until they're almost to Kaner's place.

Jonny passes up valet parking - the fewer people see Kaner up close right now, the better - in favor of dropping Kaner off as close as possible to the relevant doors before he drives off to the guest lot.

He doesn't think twice before heading up to Kaner's condo, spends the brief elevator trip mentally prepping a captainly lecture on discretion. But what he forgot to take into account is that this is _Kaner_ he's dealing with, so upon opening the door that Kaner's incautiously left unlocked behind him, what he gets is an eyeful of Kaner, now barefoot and topless, staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. _Double_ the partial nudity, great, that's just super.

He's still got the sweatpants on, at least - slipping down perilously around the slight flare of his hips, elasticized waistband now overlarge on a differently proportioned body - and he's poking curiously at one bare breast. They're small, barely a palmful, but high and tight and tipped with the same cherry color as Kaner's lips when he's been chewing at them, and Jonny surely can't be blamed for the first few seconds of watching in horrified fascination as Kaner flicks the nipple until it hardens.

"Yeah, there might be an upside to this bullshit," he addresses Jonny in the mirror, leering.

Jonny wrenches his eyes away with real difficulty. Shit like this is exactly why he'd wanted to speak to Kaner about laying low to protect the team and all that. Unfortunately, for the moment he seems to have forgotten his speech. Because on the one hand, he's pretty much programmed to see a decent-looking girl playing with her own tits as porn - and if it's real live semi-interactive porn like this, so much the better - but on the other hand, said tits are topped by an only slightly girlier version of _Kaner's_ fucking face, and the disconnect is making his head hurt. 

Or, no, wait, that would be his cock, which doesn't seem to know whether it wants to stiffen up or retract back into his body.

"Cut it out, Kaner," he hisses, slamming the door shut behind him harder than necessary. "Put 'em away."

Kaner pouts. "It's the privacy of my own home!"

"Yeah, and I'm _in_ it. Put that shit away." He wings Kaner's discarded shirt at his head. Kaner just ducks, laughing. 

"Says Captain Underwear Workout himself," he retorts. "If you can't handle it, there's the door."

Jonny sighs. "We can trust you to - you'll keep this under wraps, though, yeah?" Could've chosen his words better, since literally speaking Kaner's doing a really bad job of keeping _this_ under wraps, right in front of him.

Kaner rolls his eyes, crosses his arms under those little breasts. His lashes are so long it's like they always belonged in a woman's face.

"I'm a girl, Jonny, not an _idiot,”_ he says, and Jonny side-eyes him.

"Just saying. I mean, knowing you, the first thing you're gonna do with - _that -”_ (he attempts, with difficulty, to indicate the current situation between Kaner's legs without actually looking at anything below Kaner's neck) "is take it for a practice run through half the dick in Chicagoland." 

Kaner laughs, bright and open. "Oh, what, now I'm into dick just because I have a place to put it?" He glances pointedly down at himself. "Because, I mean, technically I've _always_ had someplace to put it, before, too, so -"

"Shut _up,_ ” Jonny groans, raising his hands to his temples so as to cover his ears and/or magically touch-wipe his memory. "Alright, alright, I'm taking off right now. "

"You sure?" Kaner smirks at him. "Because I did kinda wanna test-drive this shit before it wears off."

It's not even the first time Kaner has fake propositioned him, although it's undeniably the best Kaner has ever looked while doing so. 

"Oh, what," Jonny mimics, "now you're into dick after all?" 

Kaner snorts. "Did you hear me asking for your _...help?_ " He gives Jonny a slow, rude once-over. "Just thought you might like to see. Seems, y'know, relevant to your interests."

Jonny feels himself flush. Kaner knows him too well: they were road roomies for years, Kaner's a nosy motherfucker, and Jonny never really bothered to be that careful about his porn tabs or bookmarks or hard drive folder, especially since most of it was positively vanilla compared to the kind of shit Kaner liked. And yeah, he did and does watch a fair amount of lady solo stuff; he's always found it the, like, neatest and most elegant option in the usual array, something pleasingly streamlined about it - no hideous dude screwing up the view with his grunting and humping away, no fake lesbians or fake orgasms or all-too-real mess of jizz, just him getting to watch one hot girl making herself feel good with (preferably) her own hands.

Except this is not a girl, hot or otherwise, it's _Kaner_ , and he has to remember that - no matter how much his dick is trying to tell him that tits are tits and Kaner's got nice ones.

“ _No,_ Kaner," he says firmly, and Kaner shrugs easily.

"Your loss," he says, back to staring at his rack in the mirror like Christmas has come early. He never was subtle about checking out chicks. "I guess I'll just have to take care of myself, then," and he slides one hand down his abs, into his sweatpants, waist tugging down just enough to reveal the beginning of the sweet curve of his pubic mound. 

Jonny associates those particular lines of the body with nothing but good things, tight jeans and bikinis and eating an eager girl out, and transposing that instinctive response onto _Kaner_ of all people is really fucking with his head.

"Knock yourself out," he says hastily, and turns toward the door. 

-

At home he has a couple fingers of bourbon - or, okay, more than a couple - to take his mind off this entire shitstorm. But it doesn't really do the trick, apparently, because sometime after midnight the alcohol tells him that it'd be a good idea to text Kaner: 

**How was it?**

He doesn't actually expect a response; rooming together also taught him that Kaner tends to pass out directly after getting off. But maybe the equipment Kaner's working with now is different that way, because after fifteen drowsy minutes and another bourbon, Kaner texts back.

**ohh man they werent kidding abt multiple orgasms**

If Jonny's going to bed alone, he usually rubs one out right beforehand, to help himself fall asleep and avoid the pressing urgency of really bad morning wood. It's a perfectly normal part of his routine. Only now he can't do it, because his imagination's already running tipsily wild, and he refuses - absolutely refuses - to touch himself in any sort of conjunction with Kaner's newly acquired lady parts or what he's doing with them.

Instead he puts the bottle away and lies rigidly between the sheets, forcing his hard dick down and his racing mind to sleep.

Probably jerking off would've been the more merciful option after all, because he wakes in the wee hours with a start and a shout, as from a nightmare, armpits and groin so slick with sweat that for a second he thinks he's had his first wet dream in ten-plus years. 

All he can remember of it is one last vivid image: Kaner back at the UC, splayed on the exam table in an otherwise empty room, grinning under the shitty fluorescent lighting, towel falling open and legs spreading wide -

Only Jonny's sense of professional responsibility prevents him from chugging the rest of the damn bottle, grabbing his erection and going for it right then and there; and it takes two cold showers with a 5K run in between before his balls will stop fucking aching.

-

The Hawks were already having issues these last couple of months, even prior to Kaner's, uh, injury - and so with him out Jonny has enough on his plate that he doesn't see Kaner again for a couple of days, not until right after they beat the Hurricanes.

He gets out of the restaurant where some of the guys are celebrating and checks his phone to find a plaintive text from Kaner: **booooored jonny so bored :( u rly dont think i could get away with goin out?? just for like a drink or sth**

**NO,** Jonny texts back immediately, because Kaner going out for 'a drink or something' in his current state is exactly what they're trying to avoid here. **I'll be right over.**

Kaner sends back a series of frowny faces, then finally a resigned **well atleast bring beer then? my grocery service wont deliver it**

They're in the middle of a week-long homestand and don't have another game until the day after tomorrow. Jonny's always considered it part of his captainly duties to check in with guys on IR, and besides, Kaner's his buddy. The fact that he makes an even more obnoxious chick than dude doesn't change any of that. 

And so Jonny makes the drive over, stopping on the way for a twelve-pack.

At least Kaner's locked his damn door this time, and at least he's got a shirt on when he answers it, even if it's just an old Hawks tee - at least three sizes too big, it’s slipping way off one shoulder - over boxer briefs.

"You been signing for your groceries like that?" he greets Kaner, who just laughs and says, "Nah, but maybe if I flashed the delivery guy he'd cave and bring me booze already. Do you think?"

“ _I_ brought you booze, you fucking alkie," Jonny says, swinging the box one-armed onto the coffee table in annoyance: it lands hard enough to make glass rattle together, clinkclinkclink. "There."

Kaner makes victory arms. "Guess you're the one owed a flashing, then," he says, fingers plucking at the hem of his shirt like he's going to lift it over his head, and he cracks up when Jonny glares at him.

"Already seen 'em, Kaner," he says, flopping heavily onto the couch.

"Yeah, well, the novelty hasn't worn off for some of us." Kaner smiles, a small secretive thing.

"I can tell." Jonny glances back at him. "Look, I know you're banking on changing back pretty soon, but in the meantime, maybe consider investing in a bra." It's not like Kaner's packing that much in the chest area, but the hint of unsupported movement visible underneath the fabric is still apparently more than enough to do the trick as far as distracting the shit out of Jonny.

"No point when I can't even leave home," Kaner says, face falling abruptly. "Jesus, Jonny, I'm going stir crazy cooped up in here."

"I know, buddy." Jonny pats the couch beside him, a sucker as always for Kaner's sad-puppy eyes. He can't figure out whether they're less or more pitiful in that girl face.

"I can't go _anywhere,_ they made me promise," Kaner says, and slumps down pathetically beside him. "I Skyped my folks the other day, 'cause they were worried about my" (fingerquotes) "injury, and -"

"Wait, do they - they don't know?" Jonny cracks the top cardboard open and pulls out a bottle, knocks the cap off against the edge of the coffee table with one swift, precise blow, a practiced gesture.

Kaner shakes his head. "I kept the webcam up on my face," and he gestures, a cut-off movement somewhere around his neck. "Kept the lights down low and everything. But my sisters still said I looked weird, and they were super worried and I wanted to tell them, but -" 

His features are crumpling in real time, now, and Jonny hastily sticks the opened beer into Kaner's hand, hoping to stave off an emotional landslide. 

It works, for the moment: Kaner perks up enough to slant his mouth gratefully at Jonny, not quite a smile, before wrapping his fingers around Jonny's own on the cold bottleneck. He takes the first long pull like that, and Jonny indulges him for a moment - it'd hardly be the first time he's poured alcohol into Kaner's mouth, after all - before disentangling his hand, carefully so as not to send the full bottle plummeting into Kaner's lap. It wouldn't be his first time giving Kaner a lapful of beer, either - accidentally or on purpose - but Jonny knows how to pick his moments, and this sure isn't one of them. He'd blame the woman hormones, or whatever, if he didn't know that Kaner's always been pretty ready with the waterworks. 

Openly acknowledging the threat of tears is out of the question, though, so instead he just gives Kaner's wrist a last squeeze (gently, an automatic toning down of pressure: it's the same one Kaner had surgery on, years ago now) before twisting to grab another beer, this one for himself. He goes to pop the top off with the table again, but inexplicably fucks it up twice in a row, because Kaner just pulled his bare legs up onto the couch, stretching them out against the upholstery and wriggling to get more comfortable. And, okay, it's basically a girl in underwear on a couch, thighs and calves lean with muscle, skin creamy, a faint dusting of red-gold catching the low indoor light, which - Jonny tries not to stare.

"Uh, Taze?" Kaner says amusedly, so he must not have been that successful. 

"I - you don't usually see such a decent pair of legs with the hair still on 'em," Jonny says on autopilot, just like he's checking out girls at the bar with Kaner, like normal; then he blushes palpably as Kaner grins wide. It's fucking weird, okay, trying to reconcile Kaner with this body that, under normal circumstances, both he _and_ Kaner would be more or less into -

Kaner's showing off his legs on purpose this time, like the asshole he is, flexing his hips upwards until the hem of his shirt slides back along his abs. Jonny looks away. “That doesn’t mean you have to be a tramp about it, Kaner," he says.

Kaner laughs and tugs the hem back down over the lovely swell between his hipbones, and Jonny wonders whether Kaner's totally full of shit or whether he really has figured out how to make that thing come. He's always assumed that Kaner's kind of terrible in bed, like, with real girls. Well, maybe it's easier from the inside. 

And no, no, no, he will _not_ think about anything whatsoever _inside_ Kaner.

He's pretty sure his face is actually on fire right now.

"So they're finally bringing over Teravainen…?" Kaner says, evidently taking pity on Jonny, who seizes the opening with both hands, grateful as fuck to be able to talk shop for a while.

-

They've knocked back all but a couple of the beers and are discussing the latest Rockford call-ups when Kaner finally yawns, jaw cracking with it.

"Ugh, this body's such a lightweight," he says, and stretches, languorous. "Motherfuuuck."

Jonny's got probably fifty pounds on the body Kaner has now, but he must be a lightweight too, if the way he can't take his eyes off Kaner's stupid unshaved legs is any indication.

"So you seriously don't think going out is an option?" The question's almost word-for-word from his text earlier; Kaner's memory is for shit when he's been drinking, so he tends to repeat himself a lot. 

"I _brought_ you your 'drink or something'," Jonny reminds him. "And no."

Kaner rolls his eyes. "I wasn't really asking about hitting the scene for _that,_ dude, keep up. Or, I mean, that too, but. I was talking about picking up."

"And how did you plan to make that happen?" Jonny snaps, out of patience. "Were you gonna dress up? Like a girl going out? _Shave?”_ He glances pointedly at Kaner's legs again. "Deal with a bunch of dudes trying to mack on you?"

"Thought we established I'm not looking for _dudes,”_ Kaner says, but slowly, like he's just now figuring out the flaw in his cunning plan.

"Yeah, I'd love to see you try and pick up a lesbian at a gay bar," Jonny continues sarcastically. "And even if you somehow didn't strike out, what then? You gonna bring her back here and bang her with a strap-on? With all these pictures everywhere where you're _male?_ Maybe try and pass yourself off as a tran-"

"Fine! Fine, got it, bad idea, sheesh, I'll just go to bed then." Kaner sits up abruptly, and his oversized t-shirt shifts with it, V-neckline dipping almost to one nipple. Jonny's gaze tracks it helplessly; he feels like he's fourteen again, ogling grainy nip-slip shots on the internet, praying for a swath of fabric to slide just that all-important half-inch down. "You can let yourself out -" 

He breaks off, eyes finally catching the sightline of Jonny's own, and Jonny thinks _SHIT, busted_ pretty much simultaneously with Kaner's incredulous "- uh. Unless, y'know, unless you maybe wanna -"

"If you say 'join me' I'm gonna punch you in the face, I don't care if you _are_ a girl," Jonny grits out, and feels his neck flooding hot with shame as Kaner stares at him all the harder.

"I'm just fucking with you, Taze," he says slowly, blue blue eyes fixed right on Jonny's face. "But, you know. You do kinda keep looking at all this like you wanna -"

Jonny doesn't want to know whether _that_ sentence ends with 'bang me' or 'murder me'. He's honestly not sure which of those his own face is saying right now. Possibly both.

"What is your problem?" he cuts in. It comes out too loud, panicked. "Stop dicking around, it's not fucking funny."

Kaner suddenly looks awake as hell, gaze blazing now.

"Oh, sorry for thinking you might actually be cool about this bullshit," he says in a harsh, accusing whisper. "What is _your_ problem, huh?"

"I -"

There's no way Jonny's going to admit how much Kaner's getting to him, not when he can't even figure out whether it's on purpose. Kaner lives to taunt him - and vice versa - but as a rule he isn't cruel, not deliberately. Jonny doesn't know how that fits with the part where he's acting like a huge pricktease and then mocking Jonny for looking.

"Like I _asked_ for this to happen to me," Kaner snaps, "like I'm _happy_ about being out for weeks, stuck here -"

Jonny rubs a hand over his face and stands up. "This is all just really weirding me out," he says, which is the closest he's gonna get to apologizing, here. 

By the look on Kaner's face, it's not nearly close enough. Jonny doesn't meet his eyes as he heads for the door, disgusted with the way this whole night has gone, with Kaner being out, with the team, with all those half-desired flashes of flesh, and most of all with himself.

"Oh, it's weirding _you_ out, fuckjob?" is the last thing he hears Kaner yelling at his back as he goes.

\- 

Next week the Hawks head out onto the road, and Jonny doesn't get to see Kaner before they leave, doesn't even talk to him. Kaner sure doesn't contact _him;_ the rookies say he's gone recluse, not answering anyone's texts or calls. 

Jonny kind of figures it'll just become one of those things they never end up talking about: _Hey, remember that time you turned into a girl and I was kind of humiliatingly into it and you got really pissed about that? Haha good times am I right bro._

But then during the final leg, a rough game against the Pens, Jonny goes down on a hard hit, and the sudden sense of bodily dislocation is so dizzyingly strong that for those first few fractured moments he's frightened that it's another concussion, a bad one. 

Compared to that possibility, or to any of the career-ending alternatives whirling through his mind in the initial shock of it, it's almost a relief when he actually realizes the truth. His cup may be flapping loose and empty between his legs, his chest might be pressing painfully against underarmor that was never designed to accommodate breasts, his weight distribution and center of gravity might be alarmingly off, but at least this body feels palpably whole, sound, unbroken. 

He remembers Kaner faking a limp as he skated off the ice, right after _his_ change, and so he clutches at the arm that got smushed up against the boards as he makes his way over to the bench, trying to look like he's got a normal reason for leaving the game. He'd finish it out just like this if he could, hell - he's a hockey player, he's seen guys with broken legs try to talk their way back onto the ice, surprise T &A are nothing by comparison - but he has a nasty suspicion that that's going to be out of the question as soon as he gets his helmet off and Q gets a look at his face.

Thanks to Kaner he's already heard most of what the doctors can tell him, and tunes out until everyone's done waving around nondisclosure forms and composing vague press releases about taking it day by day, and have moved on to arranging Jonny's travel logistics back to Chicago.

God, Kaner is _never_ going to let him hear the end of this.

-

He doesn't even bother to text before showing up at Kaner's with his luggage still packed into his car. 

When Kaner lets him in, the first thing out of his mouth is a pissed-off "I'm sorry, I thought this was _weirding you ou-“_ and then his voice disappears and his eyebrows shoot up.

"Just got a whole lot weirder," Jonny says, shouldering his way in. "Did you see it on TV?"

"I saw _something_ on TV," Kaner says, still gaping. "But that's a hell of a…upper body injury."

Jonny glances ruefully down at his chest. He's a lot more stacked than Kaner is, and it's proven surprisingly tough to deal with so far. 

"Yeah, well, I might actually have one if this keeps up," he says, "these fucking things are giving me _back pain."_

Kaner blinks at him a couple more times before bursting out laughing. "Shiiiit, Jonny." 

Jonny scowls blackly at him. 

"Sorry, sorry," Kaner says, collapsing onto the couch, still cracking up. "Wow. Uh, I'm really bummed for you and the team, obviously." 

Jonny grimaces. "Me too," he says flatly, "but the boys'll step up. And we already clinched for playoffs, anyway, so." 

"Although, not gonna lie," Kaner adds, "I am also a little bit relieved. That it was just this, I mean." In the face of Jonny's incredulous stare - he's still working on wrapping his mind around his current state, okay - Kaner says defensively, "What? I mean, you could've been _hurt_ hurt. I thought you were, y'know?" 

Jonny remembers his own tamped-down panic after Kaner's change, imagines if their places were swapped and he was the one worrying helplessly about his captain, and his annoyance drains away. 

He thumps his suitcase down onto the couch, shrugs off his coat (the big winter one, too heavy for this time of year really, but the thick wool was his best immediate option for disguising the whole rack situation). "I'm camping out at yours until this whole clusterfuck is through, you have better security and the layout's got more privacy." And because the last time he'd had to stay home alone in recovery for weeks on end, he'd felt like he was losing his mind, and Kaner can at least be counted on to provide distraction. But he doesn't say that. 

"Exile buddies! Awesome. I've been so fucking bored here you don't even know." Kaner grins and throws an arm around his shoulders, with some difficulty - Jonny's still tall, especially for a girl - and then he gets a strange look on his face and plucks curiously at Jonny's shoulderblade through his henley. "Hey, is that -" 

And before Jonny can stop him, he's found the edges of the strap there and is snapping it against muscle and bone. What is this, junior high school? 

"Shut up," he says, face flaming as he shoves Kaner away. "They _hurt_ otherwise, okay, especially when I run or anything. It sucks." 

Kaner's giggling again, a little hysterically. "Tell me you didn't have to go _bra shopping,_ Jonny, oh my God -" 

"Fuck you, no. My ex left it behind at my place, forever ago." The black sports bra is too small for Jonny's current frame, cleavage spilling out, but it's a hell of a lot better than nothing. 

"And the A matches the T," Kaner says, circling around him, practically electric with glee. Jonny only refrains from punching him because Kaner's shorter than he is. "Damn, dude, I'm not gonna lie, if it weren't you this would be pretty banging." 

"It's _not_ me," Jonny says sharply, resisting the urge to hunch his shoulders up protectively around himself. He's still built and strong - nothing wrong with this body's conditioning, either, he can feel the power latent in the thick thighs and big ass, firm biceps and wide shoulders. It just all…curves together a little differently now. 

He's had to wear this coat out ever since he'd realized that without it men were looking at him on the street, like, _looking_ looking, which was in itself a weird enough experience that immediately going to ground at Kaner's seemed an infinitely preferable option. 

"Don't get salty, I'm just saying you could do a lot worse," Kaner says, finally turning away to fish for the remote. "At least the Amazon sports dyke look kind of works on you." 

Jonny's not going to say so, but he's not entirely surprised, considering what an upgrade the change was on Kaner. Or maybe they just both think that because they're straight dudes? This is really confusing. 

Kaner's asking him something, and he snaps out of it too late to catch the aftertrail of the words. "Huh?" 

"You down to play some smashed Smash?" Kaner's gesturing to his gaming system and his so-called liquor cabinet - containing mostly just beer right now, both because Kaner has no class in terms of home organization and because his record with hitting the hard stuff during the season has not, historically, been the greatest; Jonny's never seen Kaner more certain that he was going to get fired outright than that time he missed practice with a 48-hour hangover. 

"Day drinking, Kaner, really?" he says. "Save it for the off-season." 

"Is it still light out?" Kaner sounds faintly surprised. "I don't even know what day it is, to be honest with you, man." 

Now that Jonny notices, all the heavy floor-to-ceiling blinds in the place are shut tight. Nobody's looking into _this_ condo. 

"Paranoid much?" he says lightly, but privately he kind of approves of Kaner exercising excessive caution for once. 

Kaner must see that, because he just sniffs. "Who knows these days? Hell, someone got pictures of the future Queen of England's knockers from, like, a mile away." 

You could always just not parade around with _your_ knockers out, Jonny thinks, but they've already been down that road and it wasn't very productive, so all he says is "I really don't think you're up to royalty level, Peeks." He pulls a controller out of the tangled nest of consoles and wires that passes for Kaner's entertainment system, because the latter part of smashed Smash sounds good, anyway. 

"No," Kaner says darkly, "but we do have some weird fucking fans in this city, you can't deny it. Like, I'd been on IR officially for like a day before some rando mailed me a package of homemade cookies." 

"Aw," Jonny says. "That's nice." 

"Yeah, except I'm pretty sure they had human hair baked into them," Kaner says, and grabs another remote. "So, fine, sober Smash then?" 

"That's more like it," Jonny says, relaxing back into the couch. 

"I see you're still boring as a girl," Kaner bitches, but he fires up the Nintendo anyway. 

\- 

That night, in what's supposed to be Kaner's guest bedroom although it's more like the spare-exercise-machines-and-embarrassingly-large-sneaker-collection room, Jonny lies awake, insomniac, nerves thrumming. 

He's worried, of course, about the team and the season and when he'll turn back and be good to go again. But underneath all that there's also something else: Jonny's last orgasm was before the change happened, obviously he hasn't gotten off _since,_ and he thinks, now, that he might be feeling turned on. 

It doesn't feel quite the same in this body, but it's close enough to recognize. 

Well, he thinks, this at least I know how to deal with, and he sticks his hand between his legs, touches himself like he'd do it normally. Hard and fast from the get-go, then rapidly harder and faster till - 

_Ow._ Ow, shit, Jesus, what the fuck. Jonny yanks his hand back, wincing, clit throbbing angrily, and hopes he didn't break himself somehow. 

He doesn't dare try again after that, even though that excited, yearning heat in his blood hasn't gone away. At least he doesn't have an actual boner to deal with, just this vague hollow ache somewhere deep inside him, still hiding there as he falls into a restless sleep. 

\- 

Sharpy calls the next day to check on them. Actually, he tries to FaceTime them first, but Jonny remembers what Kaner'd said about Skyping his sisters, and has to make up some bullshit excuse about the app glitching on his phone or something, so they don't have to show their faces on video. Jonny really had meant to tell his alternate captains the truth, but he'd been hustled out of there before he had a chance, and it seems kind of awkward to do it _now._

Sharpy has definitely at least gathered that they're staying together - or, as he puts it, "shacked up in Peekaboo's love nest". 

"Seriously, though, maybe it's a blessing in disguise," he adds optimistically through what sounds like a mouthful of breakfast. Somewhere in the background, the baby's crying. "I mean, at least you'll both be coming into playoffs rested?" 

Kaner, listening in on speakerphone from where he's still in bed, whispers nervously to Jonny, "You think he can tell just from our voices?" 

"I think he's too worried about this losing streak to notice much else," Jonny whispers back; Sharpy's already moved on to stressing about how badly their defensive game's been sucking lately. 

The last thing Kaner says before they hang up is, "Take good care of 'em for us, dude." When he puts the phone down, he looks sad, and something in Jonny's chest twinges. This female version of Kaner's face is just as transparent as ever, every emotion right out there to see like always, except now Jonny's brain registers it as not only _upset Kaner_ but also _woman in distress,_ and that makes the chest twinge even worse. 

He resolves to distract them both with some gym time, even though he knows he'll have to pay through the nose to book out the whole place for safety's sake. It'll help both their moods - and besides, he reminds Kaner, they still have to keep up to snuff while they're out. Playoffs are coming up, after all. 

"You don't even know if the exercise we get now will transfer over to our actual bodies," Kaner whines, like the lazy little lump he is. 

Jonny yanks his blankets off like he used to when they were rookies, and then wishes that he hadn't, since Kaner is sleeping in a laughably overlarge Cubs hoodie and, apparently, not a whole lot else. 

"Put some fucking pants on and c'mon," he says, and goes to find his running shoes. 

Kaner bitches all the way down to the building's health club, but he does look less cranky once he gets started: happy exercise endorphins plus comforting familiarity. From what Jonny can see, he doesn't appear to be holding back any on the machines, either. Kaner's always recognized the importance of conditioning if he's going to be competitive at his size, Jonny's got to give him that - 

His chest's doing the twinging thing again, and he tries to quit thinking about Kaner's dedication to the game or whatever, because that's something that's always hit Jonny right smack dab in the weak spot where Kaner's concerned. Something about sharing the love of their lives, like he and Kaner were both married to the same woman. 

Except not, because that’d be a fiasco. 

Jonny goes until he's burned through all his pent-up anxiety and - if he's being honest - frustrated horniness. He sure hasn't had any luck figuring out how to dissipate it on his own. Which is so embarrassing; none of Jonny's exes have ever had any complaints in that area that _he_ knew about. Maybe it's just his _own_ girl body that he sucks at handling? 

He thinks of Kaner crowing about his goddamned multiple orgasms, and then forces the thought right back out of his mind again, because Kaner's sauntering around the weight room looking like - well, like a fit sweaty blonde in shorts and a tank top, and the last thing Jonny needs is Kaner calling him out for staring yet again. 

He deliberately times his final cardio session to end a good ten minutes after Kaner's, because there's the matter of showering, and getting wet and naked in there all alone together with Kaner seems in no way a good idea. 

"You go ahead," he pants to Kaner, waving him on towards the locker rooms with one hand as he wipes sweat from his brow with the other. 

Kaner looks at him like he knows exactly what Jonny's doing here, but he shrugs and goes to grab his gym bag. 

\- 

They spend some time that evening cleaning up the condo themselves because Kaner's been too scared to let his cleaning lady in for days now, and afterwards Jonny lets them split a bottle of wine. Isn't a glass of red here and there supposed to be good for women's health? Or something. 

Kaner, loose and sentimental like wine always makes him, kicks his ankle and says softly, "Hey. Heeeey, Tazer." 

"Yeah, what?" Jonny's intent on the screen in front of them, where the Hawks are down by one to the Wild. 

Kaner kicks his ankle again. "Nothing, I'm just." He's smiling a little. It's as good a look on him as always. "This sucks less now you're here." 

"No offense, buddy, but I'd rather be somewhere else right now," Jonny says, and nods to the televised ice, the game that's going on without them. "Say, out there doing my job." 

"Yeah, no shit," Kaner says, snorting. His mouth is stained red. "But if it had to be both of us -" 

"Weren't you just calling me a shitty houseguest five seconds ago," Jonny says. He'd pissed Kaner off by…stealing the remote, or not soaking his dirty dishes, or something, who can even remember, he and Kaner yell at each other so many times a day. They've always been that way. 

"What I'm trying to say is you're a lot better than nothing, asshole." Kaner grins sharply and adds, "I mean it seemed like a shame wasting a hot girl like this on no company at all." 

Jonny's not even gonna touch the hot girl comment, but he takes the compliment and lets Kaner keep playing violent footsie like a douchebag. 

They grow quiet and tense through the third period, which sees the Hawks go up 2-1 and then the Wild equalize with less than two minutes left in regulation, and Kaner cheers tipsily when they scrape a shootout win after all. Jonny just drops back into the couch like all his strings have been cut, finally able to relax in relief. 

With the release of tension comes the realization that they're starving. Jonny digs into his phone contacts to find that shady pizza place who for the right price are willing to deliver a case of beer along with their food, because even Kaner's formidable booze stash is starting to run low. This success earns him a delighted bro-hug from still-tipsy Kaner. 

"I hope you know you're buying dinner," he tells Jonny when the intercom chimes. "I mean I'm putting you up at my place and everything." 

"You're kind of a cheap bastard for a _multimillionaire.”_ But Jonny digs into his track pants for his wallet. 

\- 

That night, pleasantly full and on a mellow wine buzz, he locks the door when he goes to bed and, cautiously, tries again: knuckling his hand against himself and starting with steady, even pressure. 

It's an improvement on last time, insofar as it doesn't burn like hell, but it's not doing much for him either. He rolls over onto his stomach, trapping his hand snugly beneath his body. Maybe that'll work better. 

The wine seems to be helping, a warm glow low in his belly. He remembers Kaner saying once - way back when, before any of this - that wine always made him horny. Kaner definitely drank more than Jonny tonight, as per usual, and Jonny wonders suddenly, mid-rub, if Kaner's doing the same thing one room over. 

The feeling between his legs ratchets up to actual heat, and he stops moving his hand, horrified. 

Fuck, this is all Kaner's fucking fault in the first place, walking around grabbing himself all the time and never shutting up about the awesomeness of female masturbation - 

He is _not_ going to get off thinking about Kaner. He doesn't care that it's Kaner in a body that actually aligns with his sexual preferences, that shit is still beyond unacceptable. And now - much like trying to not think of pink elephants - the thought intrudes every time he tries to start up again, so he guesses he's not going to get off at all. 

He throws his pillow across the room hard enough to knock over a lamp, yanks up the covers, clenches his thighs tight on the insistent, unsatisfied throb between them, and settles in for what promises to be another night of shitty sleep. 

\- 

Jonny makes them go work out the next morning, too, paying another arm and a leg so they can get the whole place to themselves for a few hours, reasoning that they need to make up for a week-plus of Kaner moping around his condo alone feeling sorry for himself and probably doing nothing except eating Cheetos and jerking off. Rubbing off? Whatever. 

They go extra hard, today. Jonny's not sure if it's that they're trying to impress each other, competitive - never out of the question, with him and Kaner - like, _look what I can do even with_ this _body,_ or if they're just bored and have a bunch of surplus energy from all the playing they're not doing. Either way, by the time they finish his legs feel like jelly. 

He manages to stagger their showers again, afterwards, hanging back pretending to fiddle with some equipment while Kaner goes on in. The timing's a little less perfect this go-round, in that Kaner a) exits the showers with his towel wrapped around his waist like he would usually, not high up under his armpits like a girl - probably an honest mistake, just the muscle memory of a zillion other times before - and then b) stops in his tracks to gawk at Jonny stripping off in front of the mirror in prep for his own shower. 

Jonny tries not to let his hands falter as they peel off his sweatpants, motions efficient and clinical as he can make them, but he knows his face is red and not just from the exercise. He's uncomfortably aware of his sports bra in particular, by now so stretched-out and sweat-drenched that it's gone basically translucent, because that's definitely what Kaner's eyeing up the most. Jonny's used to being a lot more naked than this in locker rooms, but he's not used to the looking. It's against the bro code, normally. 

Trying to be the bigger man - so to speak - he resolutely averts his eyes from the water droplets still clinging to Kaner's neck, shoulders, breasts. 

"What?" he snaps. 

Kaner's eyes are _huge,_ kind of glazed. Jonny's first impulse is to cross his arms over his chest; he squares his shoulders instead. For as big of a fucking exhibitionist as Kaner himself has been about this whole thing, he sure is overreacting to some half-sheer Spandex over Jonny's nipples. 

"Nothing, nothing." Kaner's reply comes at least thirty seconds too late, in a strangled voice. 

Jonny huffs and heads off to the showers still in his underwear. He'll finish undressing in there, thank you. 

\- 

Kaner's put a Netflix movie on in the background, something about women's field hockey in India? Maybe? Jonny's not really paying attention, too preoccupied with his phone, where he's firing off a series of texts to Sharpy about how best to shut down the Blue Jackets tonight. Kaner doesn't seem to be either: his eyes keep fluttering closed every few minutes, mouth slack with drowsiness, dozing with his head against the back of the couch and the soles of his sock feet flat against Jonny's flank. 

Jonny sends a final **Good luck man** and leans over to flick Kaner's temple, just to watch him flinch back awake. 

He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, automatically doing his usual post-exercise self-assessment: nothing strained or overtrained or more than pleasantly sore. He still doesn't feel very clean, though, even after his half-assed rinse-down in the gym. Boobs, it turns out, get _sweaty._

"I'm gonna take a shower," he says, getting to his feet. 

In the guest room's en-suite - which, thank God for not sharing a bathroom with Kaner, they had to do that on the road for years and it wasn't pretty - Jonny turns the water up extra hot and takes his time, gets nice and thorough. This may not be his body, he may not feel remotely at home in it, but he's always been one to take good care of himself and the habit holds over. 

He soaps down his back and eyes his razor, abandoned by the sink now that he doesn't have to shave his face every morning, and he's just trying to decide whether body hair on ladies grosses him out enough to bother doing something about it when Kaner bursts in. Jonny spoke too soon: this is exactly like sharing a room with Kaner on the road. 

"Hey, your mom wants to know if now's a good time to Skype you," Kaner announces cheerfully, heedless of Jonny's cursing. 

Jonny wipes suds out of his face and sticks his head around the edge of the curtain, glaring. "Does it look like now's a good fucking time?" 

"I'll text her back no, then." Kaner glances up from Jonny's phone - which, what the fuck, Jonny's had _girlfriends_ who interfered less with his shit - and waggles his eyebrows. "Hey, so, you discover the magic of detachable showerheads yet?" 

Jonny looks blankly at him for a second, only getting it when Kaner helpfully adds some enthusiastically obscene gesturing around his own crotch area. 

"For fuck's sake," he says through gritted teeth, ducking back under the showerhead in question to wash the conditioner out of his hair. "Did I _ask_ for your help with - that?" 

He hears a scoffing noise from the other side of the curtain. "Be honest, Jonny. Have you even gotten off since you, uh, turned?" 

Jonny stays silent for that fatal extra second. It's a tacit admission that he hasn't, and they both know it. He just isn't any good at lying to Kaner, who by this point can tell just from his tone of voice. It kind of sucks having someone who knows you this well. 

"Shit, dude, you must be blueballing something awful," is the next thing he hears, infuriatingly sympathetic. 

Jonny doesn't bother pointing out that there's currently a total dearth of balls, blue or otherwise, in this condo and that that's the whole problem in the first place; he just keeps up the stony silence, hoping Kaner will take the hint, drop this entire topic of conversation, and leave. 

Of course Kaner doesn't. "Have you, um." He sounds like he's trying really hard not to laugh, which is even worse than the sympathy. "You haven't figured out how?" 

That's only half true, so Jonny snarls, "Fuck you, no. It, it was just weirding me out too much, okay, I didn't like it, so." 

"If you don't like it, you aren't doing it right," Kaner says knowledgeably. He pokes an obnoxious finger into the shower curtain; Jonny can see it from the other side, distorting the plastic. "Dude, just suck it up and lemme show you how, before the orgasm drought makes your brain explode." 

"I don't think that's a thing." Jonny eyes the showerhead, Kaner's shadow on the other side of the curtain - he's still jabbing at it, for fuck's sake - and seriously considers just grabbing a towel to cover himself, stalking off to his room and getting dressed, putting an end to this whole farce. 

"Yeah, well, that's what I thought about _random sex changes_ too, but here we are." Kaner's voice turns coaxing, low and honeyed; Jonny's heard him hitting on girls in bars just like that. "C'mon, Jonny. You're gonna love it, promise." 

Jonny closes his eyes. He's already got that warm buzz going again all through his cunt, just from listening to fucking Kaner talk about masturbation. He literally doesn't think he's gone this long without coming, by his own hand or otherwise, since he hit puberty. If this keeps up - 

"Get the fuck in here, then," he says tightly, before he can think too hard about it. "And _don't_ touch me." 

"Only you would say that shit to a hot naked chick joining you in the shower," Kaner says, and Jonny doesn't have to see him to know he's rolling his eyes. 

He hears the soft thump of clothing hitting the floor. 

"You're not that hot," he says, but it comes out kind of weakly because Kaner is, in fact, climbing into his shower and he is, in fact, naked. 

"Eh," Kaner says, and grins up at him. Jonny makes himself meet his eyes. "I'd do me." 

"Who _wouldn't_ you do," Jonny chirps lamely. Kaner's stupid tiny tits haven't gotten any less appealing since the last time Jonny saw them, and he's simultaneously mad and glad that he's already established the no-contact rule - mad because he badly wants to put his mouth on Kaner's wet nipples, and glad because if they started _that,_ there's no telling where it would end. 

God knows he's in enough trouble here already. 

"Scoot over, if you don't want me touching you," Kaner says, angling to grab the showerhead. Fortunately the tub is huge, so they do actually have room to maneuver without bumping into each other. Not much, but enough. 

"Okay, so," and Kaner actually pauses to crack his motherfucking knuckles, which is just typical. "Lemme demonstrate here…" 

\- 

Kaner wasn't lying about the magic of detachable showerheads. Though, granted, after watching Kaner get himself off with it first, it probably wouldn't have taken that much more to get Jonny there in any case. 

"Holy Jesus," he says faintly, sagging against the tiled wall. 

"I told you," Kaner says, sounding way too pleased with himself even through the breathlessness. 

He'd broken the no-touching stipulation anyway, right after round two, when Jonny's climax made his knees buckle (he was so not prepared for it to be _stronger_ than the first one, Christ) and Kaner had to straight up catch him. Which is more embarrassing than anything else that's happened in this bathroom today, and that's saying something. 

"Sorry," he'd said as he took his hands off Jonny's hips, with surprisingly little egregious groping considering it was _Kaner._ "I know you said - but I didn't want you out injured for real." 

"No, it's cool, good call," Jonny rasped out. "Shit, you're still pretty strong like this," because for all that he outweighs Kaner, that grip had been steady, secure. 

Kaner grinned obnoxiously and flexed a bicep. "Girl power, Taze." 

Jonny's still floating in that dreamy post-coming haze as they stagger out together, wrap themselves up in the stolen hotel bathrobes that Kaner has lying around his condo everywhere, and return to the couch just in time to catch the Hawks game. 

He's not going to stage some kind of freakout about the lesbian seduction thing during something important like that; and just about as soon as their boys pull off an improbable last-second victory, he falls asleep on Kaner's shoulder. 

Which might be even more embarrassing than what went down today in the bathroom. 

\- 

The problem is, after that, the floodgates are opened. 

For starters, now that Jonny knows how, he can't stop getting himself off, like he's making up for those days without. And he sure as hell can't avoid thinking of Kaner when he does it, because he has to do it in the shower every time - which is also Kaner's fault, both because he only showed Jonny how to do it with the goddamn showerhead and because Jonny now has a bunch of absurdly hot memories associated with the goddamn shower in the first place. He's making up excuses to get in there three times a day, like he's rookie Kaner with his incessant bathing-slash-jerking-off. 

With the kind of proximity they're in there's no way that all of this isn't totally obvious to Kaner, and Jonny half expects Kaner to walk in on him again - worse, isn't sure what would happen if Kaner _did_ \- but nothing like that happens until a couple days later. 

He gets up in the middle of the night and heads to the darkened kitchen for water, only to find Kaner there, flanked by the twin blue glows of the nightlight and his laptop. He's staring at his screen and sipping slowly at some sort of foul-smelling mixed drink in a Gatorade thermos, because it's Kaner and he's classy like that. 

"Whatchawatchin?" Jonny croaks sleepily as he rehydrates, and Kaner turns the computer to show him tonight's highlights against the Habs. Sharpy won it for them in OT on a lucky break; Jonny's already viewed it from every angle, already texted his congratulations hours ago, but he still pauses to watch it over again in the lowlit kitchen, close against Kaner's side so they can both see the screen. 

"And how come you're still up?" he adds fuzzily, eventually, once the good part is over and it's gone to a bunch of pointless playoffs speculation instead. 

"Couldn't sleep," Kaner says, shrugging. He closes his laptop and downs the remainder of his mystery concoction, and on autopilot Jonny pours another glass of water and slides it across the counter to him, because that shit Kaner's been drinking seriously smells like a hangover in a thermos. 

"Did you take another of your four-hour naps again?" This afternoon Jonny had actually ventured out of the condo for once - taking his chances in big sunglasses and a bigger anorak, because by now it really is too warm for his winter coat - to retrieve more stuff he needed from his own place, talk to his folks in private (even if it meant lying through his teeth about his supposed injury), and savor a couple minutes' peace, because Kaner is kind of a lot to deal with 24/7. Always has been, and the sexual tension isn't helping things any. "You know that shit fucks up your sleep schedule." Their trainers are very big on sleep schedules. 

"Nuh uh. Just stressing out, I guess." Kaner's slurring his words very slightly, alcohol or exhaustion or both. "Like y'know, what if it somehow doesn't wear off in time and we miss half of playoffs, what if we're too rusty when we come back, what if -" 

If Jonny has a weak spot for Kaner loving hockey and working hard at it, Kaner being _upset_ about hockey always, without fail, gets Jonny in pretty much the weakest spot he _has_. His automatic and immediate instinct is to give him a comforting pat on the ass, like he does on-ice when Kaner's beating himself up over a missed shot or whatever; under the circumstances, he settles for Kaner's shoulder instead. 

"It's gonna be fine," he says, as much to reassure himself as anything. "They told us - I'm sure it'll be okay." 

Kaner reaches up, catches Jonny's hand mid-pat, and squeezes. They call him soft-handed, and as a girl he's no less so. Jonny can feel the deft precision latent in his fingers, bets they'd stick-handle just as well as ever, and he feels another surge of impatience at the both of them being kept off the ice for close to no reason at all. 

"Yeah," Kaner says heavily, and makes a game attempt at a smile. "And like you said, it's better than legit injuries." 

"Beats the hell out of a concussion, let me tell you," Jonny agrees, and they sit for a few moments in silence, aside from Kaner slurping down the water Jonny got him. He's such a mouth-breather, which is pretty funny with his girl face. 

Jonny's been leaning in a little, unthinking, just the usual moral support by physical proximity thing, and he doesn't realize that it's making the neck of his stupid bathrobe fall open in a deep V until Kaner's eyes drop to the exposed upper slopes of his breasts, because Kaner is a pig who can't even resist checking people out when they're trying to console his dumb ass. Granted, Kaner's practically on eye level with his rack in the first place, and it's a pretty impressive rack at that - Jonny gets how it might be sort of tough to ignore - but he could at least try and be a _little_ subtle about it. 

"Would you quit staring at them?" he snaps, finally, and Kaner jerks his eyes away, reddening, and says, "Sorry. They're just - they're really, uh - they kind of blew my mind, back in the shower." 

If Jonny yanks his robe shut it'll be like Kaner wins, somehow, so he doesn't do it. "Always took you for more of an ass man," he says instead, because they've definitely discussed that before. 

"Oh I am, but your ass looks exactly the same as ever. Spectacular," Kaner adds matter-of-factly, "but there's not the same, um, novelty factor I guess." He's totally back to looking at them. Jonny doesn't even waste his breath calling him out again. "You try playing with 'em yet?" 

Jonny shakes his head mutely. They hadn't done that in the shower, touching themselves there, although now that he's picturing it he's kind of wishing they had. 

"It feels good," Kaner says quietly, and - 

in the near-dark of the kitchen it doesn't seem like that big of a deal, after all, for Jonny to surrender to the inevitable and bring his hand up to cup one of Kaner's braless little breasts through his t-shirt. 

Kaner sucks in a sharp breath, but his back arches slightly and it's into the touch, not away. 

"That feel good too?" Jonny's voice comes out rough. 

Kaner exhales raggedly. "Even better." 

Jonny pinches gently at his nipple, rolls it between his fingers till it stiffens, and then gives in completely and ducks his head down to lick at it through the thin cotton. Kaner makes a noise, not quite a moan. His eyes are pale and striking in the dim light, wide and fixed on Jonny's face. 

Jonny gets his spare hand on the other one, squeezes briefly before losing patience with all this fabric bullshit and pushing Kaner's shirt up to get at bare skin. Kaner's whole torso jerks, a shudder rolling across the compact muscles of his stomach, and when Jonny sucks first the nipple and then the entire breast into his mouth, he outright whines. 

"Jonny," he says, sounding lost and unsure and turned the fuck on. "Can I - let me - _please.”_

"Not here," Jonny says, and lets go of him. Whatever the hell they're doing, he draws the line at doing it in Kaner's kitchen. 

Kaner stares up at him, t-shirt still all rucked up over his chest, nipples rosy and hard from Jonny's mouth. Like this he's seriously Jonny's exact type: small, blonde, kind of a hot mess. What a fucking disaster. 

He tips his head towards the bedrooms, and Kaner follows. 

\- 

Kaner's bedroom is lit only by his TV, running NHL '14 off his Xbox right now, though thankfully it's at least paused: Jonny's not banging anybody with a digital version of himself skating around over their shoulder. 

It's such a big screen that the bright white of all that digital ice actually does give them enough light to work with, but it makes everything look dreamlike and unreal, the bed dim and their bodies deeply shadowed. 

Jonny doesn't even know whether he's wishing for more light to see by, or less. 

He's got his hands on Kaner's hips and Kaner's yanking his already-disheveled shirt off over his head, and then they get to the bed, stop and look at each other for a second. Jonny's pretty sure they're both having the same dilemma over positioning: who'll be on top - like, literally on top - and who'll be on the bottom. 

"C'mere," Kaner says finally, and when Jonny steps close enough to touch, he pushes him down to half-sit on the side of the bed, half-sprawl back on his elbows. Then he clambers into his lap, straddling him. He's just enough shorter and lighter than Jonny that it feels pretty much exactly like every other time Jonny's had a girl ride him, every hookup or girlfriend who was into doing it cowgirl style. 

He guesses this is also, technically, having a girl ride him. But the point is that it doesn't feel like getting topped by a dude - or like Jonny imagines getting topped by a dude would feel, he wouldn't know - so that's okay then. 

"Quit freaking out," Kaner says, breath hot in Jonny's ear. "We're both chicks right now, nothing gay about that." 

"Do you even listen to yourself?" Jonny mutters. 

"Whatever, you know what I mean." Kaner's hands drop to the belt of Jonny's robe, fiddle with the knot. "Can I -" 

"Yeah," Jonny says, and Kaner gets it untied in two seconds flat and promptly buries his face in Jonny's cleavage. 

He was right, it does feel good. 

"God, these things are fucking glorious," Kaner murmurs into his sternum, and thumbs over both his nipples at once. Jonny's skin prickles with goosebumps, all up and down his arms and back and shoulders. "If mine were like this I'd just stay in front of the mirror all day long." 

Jonny snorts. "They're a major hassle," he says, focusing really hard on keeping his voice steady. His female voicebox or whatever doesn't seem to do that embarrassing cracking thing under stress, which he has to admit is kind of nice. 

"But so worth it," Kaner says, pressing Jonny's breasts together with two hands and then apart to lick in between, a long dirty drag of tongue. 

It's not a bad view, that pretty red mouth on his skin, but in terms of location it's not doing that much for Jonny, so he fists a hand in Kaner's curls and drags his head where he wants it - just a few inches to the side. 

"Nngh," Kaner says, muffled against flesh, and next moment he's sinking his teeth very, very gently into the areola. _That_ does plenty for Jonny. He's only sorry that there's not really a way for Kaner to suck both tits at once. 

He registers, with a soft strange shock, that he's getting wet between his thighs, which hasn't happened before. Well, it might've in the shower the other day, but it was hard to tell because everything was so wet in there anyway. 

Right on cue, Kaner's hand wanders lower between them, pushing at folds of terrycloth. 

"I can smell you," he says, grinning, and Jonny's cunt _pulses._

"You say this shit to actual girls?" Jonny curls his fingernails into the sleeves of his bathrobe - hanging off his shoulders, now - and clenches them down hard, fighting for control. "No wonder you keep getting kicked out of bed." 

"That was one time!" Kaner protested. Then, "Okay, twice." Then, "Well, technically maybe three times -" 

His fingers hit bare skin - just upper thigh, but Jonny's hips still jump like crazy, like he's trying to grind up and get friction on his dick. Which he can't, obviously, but the instinctive response is pretty much the same. 

"I see you haven't mastered shaving yet," Kaner says, grinning again as he runs a finger up Jonny's inner thigh. 

"Sorry, didn't know I'd be getting _laid,”_ Jonny says snidely, and then chokes off into silence as Kaner repeats the motion, this time pressing harder. 

"Take off your -" he manages eventually, because suddenly he can't be the only one naked and vulnerable here, laid out all open like this. 

Kaner kicks off his pajama pants in possibly even less time than he took getting Jonny's tits out in the first place, and Jonny squints through the shadowy lighting and says, "You fucking hypocrite, you didn't shave shit either." 

"I got my legs!" Kaner contradicts, tilting one to display the little cuts scattered here and there along his calf. Good to know there's some part of this being a girl thing he sucks at. "But when I got to, uh, further up, I was way too scared of nicking myself. And what else am I gonna do, right, go out to some fucking…spa or whatever for a wax job?" 

Jonny's always liked his women mostly bare downstairs, because that way you can see everything better - see what you're doing, so to speak. So he's surprised to find that this is actually kind of working for him regardless. At least, his body seems to think so, because it just keeps getting wetter and wetter. 

"Anyway, I actually don't mind the natural look," Kaner adds, unwittingly echoing Jonny's thoughts, as he glances down their nude bodies. It's a hell of a view, hair or no hair. "You know, like the hippie chicks in Playboy back in the '70s, or whenever -" 

He slides his hand back down again, rubbing in slow circles under Jonny's navel, scritching his nails down to where skin meets hair. 

"What do you like?" he says, voice dipping into that throaty tone that Jonny's hindbrain has apparently already decided means fucking is about to happen, even though it's happened a grand total of once before, and that wasn't even real fucking, what the fuck. 

"I don't _know_ what I like," he says sulkily. Fuck Kaner and his secret pussy-handling skills anyway. "Showerheads, apparently." 

"Well, not a bad start, Taze," Kaner says, sunny and obnoxious, "but you gotta be able to come on a bed, too." He brings his other hand up to his own mouth and licks over his palm in a broad stripe, a filthy flat swipe of tongue. "Want me to show you how?" 

"Sure, _Peeks.”_ Jonny can anticipate Kaner's next move just fine and so he preempts it, grabbing that wet hand and shoving it right up against Kaner's cunt. The bitten-off noise Kaner makes is a stark reminder that nobody else has ever touched him there before, and something about that thought is really doing it for Jonny. "Why don't you go right ahead and _show_ me…if you can." 

"Okay, okay, geez." When Kaner curls his palm up around himself it looks like the easiest thing in the world, confident and comfortable, and the way he sighs into the touch makes Jonny forget anything and everything else going on here, because he's geared to respond in a very specific way to the sight of a girl about to get herself off. 

"Alright, so," Kaner says, and if it weren't for that goddamn sex voice, Jonny could almost believe that he was talking him through some practice drill or something. "Observe -" 

\- 

Kaner, it transpires, has absolutely figured how to get off without the showerhead. Jonny consoles his competitive streak with the reminder that Kaner's had a week and a half more to learn this shit - a week and a half of enforced hermit boredom, even - because there's no way that Kaner being decent in bed is otherwise normal or natural. 

He'd demonstrated once with his hands on himself, once with both their hands on Jonny, and twice with the two of them straight up rubbing off against each other, full-contact, thighs slicking up and hips working hot together. Now Jonny is double-shifting levels of exhausted, not used to coming that many times in a row, and against his shoulder Kaner's already most of the way to passed out. 

("Jesus fuck," he'd panted into Jonny's ear after their final round, "these bodies can just - keep - going.") 

Jonny sneaks a hand carefully down between his thighs, one more time, prodding at himself to double-check that all's well. Kaner got him off with strictly, uh, external stimulation - didn't go inside, never even tried, which was something Jonny'd been vaguely worried about. He's never let a girl do that to his ass, not once in his entire sexual history, and he's not sure if he likes the idea any better now. 

Kaner _does_ like butt stuff - a fact Jonny learned a couple years back during a very drunk conversation about blowjobs, ever since which it's ranked pretty high on his (long) list of Shit I Wish I Didn't Know About Patrick Kane - and Jonny wonders now whether that, like, carries over. That first time Kaner got himself off tonight was mostly clit play too: a couple of fingertips occasionally dipping into the folds beneath and coming back shining wet - which in itself was totally hot, Jonny's not going to lie - but that was about it. 

They hadn't kissed, either, but Jonny can feel a bruise forming on his throat where Kaner bit down on it when he came the last time, hard, finally getting loud. 

"I always figured you'd be noisy in the sack," he'd told Kaner afterwards as they lay there, panting, finally too sensitive to continue on. 

Kaner, sweaty and flushed with afterglow, grinned wickedly back. "Spend much time thinking what I'd be like in the sack, huh, Taze?" and Jonny frowned, because no, it wasn't like that, not before - before. 

But he was feeling too damn good, loose-limbed and content, to bother being a buzzkill. And now he doesn't even have the energy left to stress about it. 

He falls asleep thinking about how Kaner's eyelids flicker when he comes and wondering whether that too belongs on his Shit I Wish I Didn't Know About Patrick Kane list, or not. 

\- 

When he wakes up he needs a long moment to remember that he's in Kaner's stupidly huge bed, in front of Kaner's stupidly huge TV that's now showing a trippy floating screensaver that Jonny vaguely remembers from the last couple rounds of fucking. Does it technically count as fucking if nobody's anything actually went _in_ anything else? Whatever. 

Kaner himself is curled up crookedly against him, face smushed up against Jonny's stomach. He's already awake, or at least waking, if the way he's mouthing at Jonny's skin is any indication. 

Now that it's broad daylight, Jonny can actually see shit in here, and immediately wishes he hadn't, because the very first thing he has to say that morning is: "…tell me that's not a mirror on your ceiling, Kaner." 

"'Fraid so," Kaner says with a shit-eating grin, and Jonny sits up so fast that it gives him a massive headrush. 

"I changed my mind," he says over his shoulder as he searches the fucked-up bedcovers for his bathrobe. "We're not doing this in here. In fact" - he kicks back the sheets and finds it, finally, bundled at the foot of the bed - "maybe we're not doing this at all." 

Kaner glances quickly over at him, like he's not sure if Jonny's kidding, but whatever he sees in Jonny's face must be okay - that, or Jonny just didn't fling himself out of bed fast enough - because he relaxes again just as quick. 

"Aw, baby, don't be like that," he says, grinning again. "It'll be hot, c'mon." He gestures between their already naked bodies, all that bare skin tinged a flattering golden in the morning light. It's lighting up his curls, too, a sleep-tousled halo around his face; he makes such a cute girl, Jesus, it's terrible. "You know you wanna see what we look like." 

"Call me 'baby' again and I'm peacing out of here for real," Jonny mutters, dropping his head back into the pillow and flinging an arm up over his face. Like fuck he's gonna watch them bang in any _mirror._

Except then Kaner stretches his limbs leisurely out and says, "Seriously, you're probably gonna wanna keep an eye on this," and goes down on him. 

"Nice to see that - ah - that mouth of yours is - ah - good for _something._ ” Jonny's chirping is kind of ruined by how he keeps having to stifle these moaning noises. _"Ah."_

"It'd be even better for something if you'd relax your fucking thighs already," Kaner puffs out, raising his head. "You're about to crush my skull." His mouth is all sticky-wet already, God. 

Lying back and spreading his legs is not Jonny's first instinct in this or any situation, which is why he's having some trouble with the whole relaxation bit, but he wants Kaner's mouth back on him as soon as possible and so he tries his best, running through breathing exercises that end up trailing off into unsteady whimpers once again as Kaner really gets down to business. Kaner's grinding into the bed a little, same rhythm as the licking, and somehow Jonny hadn't made the connection between Kaner's epic oral fixation and the idea that Kaner would really, really like doing this. 

The next time Kaner stops and looks up, it's to say smugly, "Ha, I knew it, you're totally into the mirror." 

And seriously, _fuck_ Kaner and his fucking narcissism and his awful, tacky interior decorating choices, because - yes. Yes, fine, okay, so what if Jonny is totally torn between staring down at Kaner's mouth on him for real and raising his eyes to catch flashes of the action from a different angle, like it's a game he's watching. 

"You had a point about my tits," he gasps out, because they're really something viewed from directly above like this, ripe and full and shivering every time Kaner makes his body shudder, a deep blotchy red gradually spreading itself down his chest. 

“ _Yeah_ I did," Kaner says, reaching up to squeeze one appreciatively. Jonny sees it all in that strange double exposure again, Kaner's hand on him, palm slick with sweat against the nipple, and he arches up into it despite himself. 

"Come on," he groans, pushing Kaner's head back down - something he's never been so ungentlemanly as to do with an actual girl - and Kaner licks his swollen lips and goes willingly. 

Jonny comes like that, the first time, biting at his own wrist to keep silent, gaze jerking back and forth between them in reflection and them in reality, Kaner tucked close into the V of his open legs, sucking softly and steadily on his clit, lips parted and eyes closed. 

He won't give Kaner the satisfaction of saying _Wow,_ but he definitely thinks it. This goes a long way towards explaining how Kaner ever _doesn't_ get kicked out of bed, actually. 

Kaner pulls back, breathing almost as hard as Jonny; a long string of saliva stretches out between his mouth and Jonny's flesh for a second before snapping. It's fucking filthy. Jonny can feel himself slicking up even more down there, unstoppable as a hard-on, and he looks at Kaner's fingers where they're still gripping his hips and wonders again whether he wants to try getting them inside him. 

His body sure does, shit. Unshaved pussy seems to make the scent of sex stronger (or maybe lady noses are just more sensitive? Jonny's ex always knew when the milk was about to go bad a good 24 hours before he did) and that's tripping that damn hindbrain switch that makes him start getting steadily harder and harder. Or, in this case, wetter and wetter. 

"Think you can take another one, Taze?" Kaner says, and his face and tone are so unbearably smug that there's no way Jonny's about to pussy out now. 

Uh, so to speak. 

"Get to it, then," he says, daring to push Kaner's head down a little harder this time, and Kaner angles his face back in and gives Jonny another of the long flat licks over the hood of the clit that he employed to such effect the first time around. 

This time he starts from a little lower down, at the very edge of the outer lips, and Jonny tilts his hips up higher into it, knows Kaner must be tasting him on every lick now, can feel the point of his tongue smearing wetness up from cunt to clit, Kaner slicking the way further with his spit. He doesn't let himself think about it, just lifts his hips even further and locks his ankles behind Kaner's neck to get him where he wants him, wordlessly asking - 

"Yeah?" Kaner says, very low, and then, _”Yeah,”_ and he drives his stiffened tongue into Jonny's soft folds as hard as it'll go. 

Even that few inches, fucking into him like that, is lighting Jonny up like a goddamn revelation, and when Kaner adds his thumb on Jonny's clit to the equation, orgasm number two slams into him out of nowhere, wringing him out as he practically thrashes into Kaner's hands and mouth. 

"Let me try -" is the next thing he registers through the endorphin daze, and when Kaner goes down _again_ it's almost too much. Jonny whines, not sure whether to push into it or away - at least until he feels Kaner's hand creeping up his thigh, stroking through the damp hair over his cunt, testing and questing with slight nudges inward. 

"Oh," he hears, more of a long sigh than anything. Kaner must be about ready to explode, down there; Jonny doesn't think he's ever seen the dude exercise this much patience in his life. "Feel how _ready_ you are, fuuuck," and yeah, Jonny's feeling it alright: it's like somebody dumped half a tube of lube in there, and that's _before_ Kaner presses in two fingertips together and starts licking around them, tongue opening him up to work them in deeper. 

After all his worrying about it, the slide inside turns out to be such a sweetly easy thing that for a second he doesn't even fully grasp that that's what's happening, not until he looks down and sees the heel of Kaner's hand pressed flush up against him. He can't remember exactly what he'd been afraid of - though, hell, actual cherrypopping complete with blood didn't seem out of the question, considering. Not that Jonny’s afraid of a little blood per se, he plays hockey, but he generally doesn’t want to see it coming from between his legs. 

But it's not like that, it's not like anything else at all, visceral and strange and exactly what he didn't know he'd been needing. Every joint of Kaner's knuckles rubs slippery-rough within him, and when Kaner curls his fingers Jonny flat out sobs. 

"You okay?" Kaner's pupils are blown wide. 

Jonny nods frantically and pushes down against Kaner's wrist to feel the hard press against that place inside, over and over again. Christ, he'd half thought that the G-spot was a myth invented to give women an excuse for over-the-top porn moaning. 

Jonny hasn't quite gotten to porn moans yet, but he can sure see it from here. 

Kaner swings his bare legs over Jonny's, kneeling up, and Jonny looks in that damned mirror at Kaner fingerfucking him, shoulder muscles flexing and fair curls plastered to his temples with sweat, craning his neck up to mouth at the swell of Jonny's breast, and he swears in both his languages and comes sudden and hard, body seizing up around…three now?…of Kaner's clever fingers. 

"Sorry, Tazer, that one I can't show-and-tell for you," Kaner says afterwards, douchey grin out in full force. The entire lower half of his face is smeared wet. "It's sort of not compatible with talking." 

Jonny takes one resolute breath, says, "Guess you're just gonna have to wait till I figure it out by myself," and rolls Kaner under him. 

\- 

So at this point he's literally let Kaner stick his tongue in his pussy but not his mouth, something he only realizes when they're on the couch watching the final seconds of tonight's victory over the Blues and an exuberant Kaner kisses him, or tries to. 

Rationally this really shouldn't be any different, Jonny knows it, but that doesn't stop him from freezing up as soon as Kaner's mouth touches his. 

"Aw, hey, what, no." Kaner's voice drops low again, but this time it's less seductive than soothing, like he's gentling a spooked animal. He pushes their foreheads together like bumping helmets, reaches up to thumb at Jonny's lower lip, just softly. "C'mon, you know it isn't even actually me, not really." 

It _is_ you, Jonny thinks, but he can't exactly say that when he clearly remembers telling Kaner the exact same thing: _This body's not me._

"Look, I'll show you," Kaner says, and he pulls out his phone. 

He leans in deliberately and kisses Jonny again, slow and deep, one hand coming up to grasp his face, keep him there. Jonny could absolutely push him away anyway, but for just a moment he - doesn't kiss back, exactly, but at least opens his mouth and lets it happen - and then he hears the distinctive snap of an iPhone camera, and blinks his eyes open to catch how Kaner's stretched out his other arm to take a picture of the two of them from the side. 

"The fuck, Kaner," he grunts out, close against Kaner's mouth. 

Kaner pulls back enough to examine the phone screen, smirks, then twists his wrist to show it to Jonny. "Look at that. Totally hot, right?" 

It's - and this shouldn't be coming as a _surprise_ to Jonny, not after the ceiling mirror episode, but - 

He's looking at a blurryish photo of two women kissing, mouths open, a pink slick of tongue just visible (Kaner's, if very recent memory serves, but just from the picture alone it's impossible to tell whose it is, and that sends a flash of heat through him). The little curly-headed blonde is cupping the athletic pixie-haired brunette's strong jaw with her - his - fuck - fingertips, headtilt angling their faces together. It's like the good kind of girl-on-girl, the stuff where they actually seem into it, except of course for how an actual porn shot probably wouldn't cut off just above where their breasts are crushed together. It's a damn shame, Jonny thinks distantly, that Kaner's stupid selfie-taking arm isn't just that little bit longer. 

"Yeah," he concedes. "It is hot." 

"See," Kaner says with satisfaction, shaking his phone at Jonny one more time for emphasis. He glances back at the photo, and then he gets that glint in his eye that Jonny knows by now to associate with one of Kaner's bad ideas. 

"Jonny," he breathes. "Shit, Jonny, we should totally make a sex tape." 

Trust Kaner to leap from 'first kiss' to 'filmed banging' inside the space of thirty seconds. 

"Uh, _no,”_ Jonny says immediately, and keeps repeating it on principle, even when Kaner points out that this is probably the only chance either of them will ever really have to videotape themselves getting it on. 

"'Cause, like," he says, "in our normal lives - I mean, _I_ can’t take that risk no matter how much I wanted to, right? Kinda hit quota on public scandals already. And I dunno what-all _you've_ been up to" - he smirks at Jonny - "but you're supposed to be, like, Captain Serious, Role Model to Canada, so I'm guessing that's out for you too -" 

"Obviously it's out for me," Jonny says, nettled. "I have to be way more professional and responsible and shit than you do, partyboy." 

"Right, exactly! But _this -“_ and Kaner waves his hand again, between their bodies, presumably indicating 'us, having lesbian sex, on film'. "Even if it did get out somehow, who's gonna buy that it's, y’know. _The_ Kaner and Tazer?" 

Jonny's eyes drift involuntarily back to the picture, and now of course he's imagining it in, uh, motion. He can't front: if it weren't them he would totally watch that shit, totally jerk off to it. And Kaner's annoyingly right that it's a pretty much leak-proof plan, in that - barring either one of them committing some extreme indiscretion in the next week or two - nobody would dream of making the connection between a pair of semifamous male hockey players and two mystery girls in one of the millions of amateur sex tapes littering the internet, no matter how extraordinarily coincidental the resemblance might be. 

"C'mere, Peeks," he says, to distract Kaner from how he hasn't actually given a final answer one way or the other - because there was one other thing in the last five minutes that he _doesn't_ think he's on the fence about, anymore. "Hey, kiss me again." 

Kaner's face, which had fallen into a pout when Jonny'd failed to immediately leap on board with the sex tape thing, lights right back up at that. There might be dimples involved, it's bad. 

"Right on," he says, getting all up in Jonny's face again, and Jonny presses his knuckles in under Kaner's chin to tip his head up, lets his tongue swipe over Kaner's plush lower lip before pushing inside. 

\- 

The Blackhawks are getting totally spanked by the Capitals, and by second intermission it's already clear that they're not gonna be coming back from it. Jonny tries to console himself with the knowledge that the Hawks already have their playoff spot and the Caps didn't even make it in, but it's painful nonetheless to watch helplessly from Kaner's couch, worse still to think that this is the second-to-last game of the regular season and he and Kaner still aren't back yet. Kaner's hands are in tight fists in his lap, and when Jonny catches his nearest wrist and kneads at Kaner's knuckles to get him to unclench, Kaner looks down at them like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. 

"Take it easy on these suckers," Jonny murmurs, wriggling his thumb in there and stroking it against Kaner's palm until the tendons relax a little. He nods at the TV. "We're gonna be needing 'em pretty soon." 

Kaner looks bleakly at him, and Jonny reminds himself that Kaner's been off the ice for even longer than he has. That, moreover, in the past Kaner's rarely been out injured for any prolonged period of time, hasn't had to learn the agonizing lesson of patience that Jonny's concussion history taught him. 

"Want something to drink?" he suggests, because Kaner pretty much never turns down that offer - a source of problems for him in the past, to put it mildly - and while Jonny knows he shouldn't encourage him, he'd probably do worse if it meant wiping that defeated expression off Kaner's face. 

"What I want is to get wasted," Kaner says, true to form, "but I dunno if that's a good idea," _not_ true to form, "I mean, when we could be turning back at any point and right away have to be in shape to play - do you think a monster hangover would, like, carry over?" 

"You know, I did have a little bit of a cold when I went into the Pens game," Jonny says reflectively, "just a sniffle, but I don't remember having it anymore, after. I mean granted that wasn't exactly the biggest thing I was paying attention to at that point. But." 

"Well, shit," Kaner says. "Maybe we could've been raging it up this whole time," and he musters up a small smile for Jonny. Score. 

Jonny returns it, pushing himself up to stand. "I'll go see what's left." 

"Vodka in the freezer!" he hears Kaner yell from behind him as he goes into the kitchen. 

By the time the final whistle sounds on their boys' ignominious loss, they're both well on their way past buzzed. Maybe shots weren't the greatest call, Jonny thinks fuzzily. They'd slept in all morning and then spent hours at the health club Jonny'd bought out for the afternoon again, and they haven't really eaten much yet today except, like, protein bars. Which probably accounts for why Jonny's feeling it so hard already. 

Kaner is too, judging from the sloppy way he stabs at the remote to kill the broadcast, the bright eyes he turns on Jonny. 

"Wanna take our minds off it?" and he's licking his lips, in case anyone could possibly mistake his meaning. 

Sheesh, they already fooled around once today - in the locker room showers, actually, after working out, which is completely trashy and gross and something Jonny's always secretly wanted to do. Kaner had of course been delighted about it, because he's also gross and trashy. 

"Again? You're kind of a nympho," Jonny tells him now, which is not the same thing as _No thanks,_ and he knows Kaner knows the difference too. 

"Man, if you don't think one-off lesbian sex marathons are an appropriate opportunity to slut it up, I dunno what to tell you,” and Kaner sounds like himself again, which means Jonny's plan to distract him totally worked. Double score. 

He remembers Kaner, fairly early on in all this, enthusing to him about how his new body wasn't subject to the equivalent of whiskey dick - if anything, the opposite. "The drunker it gets, the hornier it gets," he'd told Jonny gleefully, "like, just more and more relaxed, it’s awesome." 

Jonny'd privately thought of a few scenarios in which that might _not_ be a benefit - for instance, he'd lay good money on the likelihood that the Kaner of years past was saved from more than a few regrettable sexual decisions by sheer inability to perform - but right now, he gets what Kaner'd been talking about. The liquor's making his limbs all heavy and lazy, and he's down to fuck right here on the couch if Kaner wants. 

Kaner, surprisingly enough, does not want. 

"We're gonna have to change the sheets," he points out, and Jonny figures he's just momentarily forgotten that this kind of sex doesn't involve jizz going everywhere. Next moment he realizes he wasn't giving Kaner enough credit, as Kaner tromps off to the bedroom - vodka bottle in hand, like the classy motherfucker he is - calling back: "Body shots, baby!" 

\- 

When Jonny follows him into the bedroom Kaner's on his phone, plugged in to charge next to the bed. He's flipping through some of his photos, and Jonny catches a flash of the one where they're making out - of course it's still on there because Kaner never fucking deletes anything, just lets it hang around taking up space or whatever - 

and although it's not like he didn't already know it rationally, that's when it really _hits_ him that they're doing all of this on borrowed time. He wonders if Kaner's thought about it too: how once they change back - once everything's gone back to normal - none of this will ever happen again. 

And maybe the whole surreal mess should just stay preserved in their memories alone…or maybe Jonny'd like some kind of memento of this crazy shit. 

Buoyed by liquid courage, he says, "Set it to video mode, Kaner," and right away Kaner whips around, face caught in the same surprised pleasure as earlier today when Jonny'd jumped him in the showers. 

"You're kidding," he says, already fiddling with the camera setting, and Jonny rolls his eyes and gets on the bed. 

"Let's do this shit," he says, popping the button on his stupid jeans that fit all weird on this body, and Kaner fumbles to position the phone on a nearby desk. 

"Okay, okay," he's saying hastily. "I just need to get the - angle, there," and then he's coming over to the bed as well, reaching with one hand for the vodka, and with the other, for Jonny. 

\- 

They pass out, camera still rolling, somewhere around the sixth orgasm between the two of them and the last inch left in the bottle, and surface again in the middle of the night to gulp down water. Jonny's just alert enough to be disgusted by how he's smeared head to toe with a tacky residue of alcohol and…other stuff. Since he's already up, he opts for yet another shower. 

When he emerges blearily from the bathroom Kaner's avidly watching porn on the big screen, and Jonny's about to yell at him for starting that up when they shouldn't even be _awake_ right now, until his sleep-fogged brain registers that it isn't porn. Or, well, technically it is, but. It's also _them._

"Fucking hell," he says, staring up at the near-lifesized images. 

"Told you it'd be a good idea." Kaner's voice is gravelly from sleep and arousal, and he's got his hand between his legs, rubbing idly. Jeez, _again?_

\- Although the longer Jonny stands here, watching Kaner touch himself while an _other_ Kaner totally loses it onscreen, the more convinced his body is that he might have a couple of rounds left in him, too. 

He sees his own screen-self pouring liquor into Kaner's navel - with surprisingly decent coordination, considering how drunk they were by this point - then grasping Kaner's hips and bending his head in to suck it out. Screen-Kaner whimpers, arching up towards his mouth, shameless. He's got hickeys all over his collarbones. 

Screen-Jonny's lips move against his skin, and the sound quality on the recording is beyond shitty but they can still catch most of what he's saying: 

_”- God, you're so fucking hot like this.”_

Kaner laughs shakily. _”Vodka goggles, Tazer?”_

Jonny shakes his head, nuzzling into Kaner's pubic hair. It's visibly slick already, enough to show up on camera. _“Not even,”_ he says. _"Fuck, should've put my cock in here while I had the chance,”_ and Kaner groans. 

In the real world, Jonny's ears burn. He doesn't remember saying any of that. He wouldn't have, sober. 

"Oooops, Jonny," Kaner giggles from his side, punchy with lingering drunkenness, sleep deprivation, and arousal. "Gave the game away there, guess we're gonna have to keep this shit locked up pretty tight after all." 

On screen, the other Kaner is coming loudly around Jonny's fingers for the - third? - time. Jonny'd lost track at some point. 

"Where's your phone?" he says, lurching towards the entertainment center and diving into the tangle of cords underneath, trying to find which one is connected to the television. "I'm moving it to _my_ computer. Password-protected." 

"What, hey, no," Kaner protests. "I wanna be able to watch it whenever, too." 

"I'll send you a copy. _Also_ password-protected," Jonny says, because Kaner's always careless about that kind of thing. "But it can't just chill on your phone, seriously, anybody could get a hold of it." 

Kaner makes a resigned face, but says, "At least leave it till the morning, dude, come on, don't interrupt. Maybe _you're_ not into this but _I_ wanna watch the rest." 

"Who says I'm not into this?" Jonny sends him a disbelieving glance, setting the USB cable down. "I said yes in the first place, didn't I?" 

"You've never liked seeing yourself on camera, though," Kaner says, shrugging, "except on ice, I guess, but that's completely different." 

"So is this," Jonny says, joining him on the bed again and watching Kaner's eyes flick back and forth like they can't choose between naked Jonny fingerbanging him on the screen and naked Jonny talking to him in real life. Jonny kind of can't blame him: his recorded self has just rolled over for Kaner in the liquor-soaked bed, and the way both Kaners - the one on film and the one right beside him - are looking at his ass… 

"Hey," he says, and takes Kaner's hand, guides it down to his lap, letting him feel. "I'm _totally_ into it, look." 

Kaner's fingers slide wet over the lips, and he starts to grin. "Oh, huh." He ventures upwards, and the touch makes Jonny hiss, clit still swollen pink from last night's action. 

Onscreen, the other Kaner is dripping vodka slowly along the line of Jonny's spine, following the long S-curve top to bottom, from the nape of his neck all the way down. Well, almost all the way: 

_”You get any of that in my ass, you're gonna have another kicked-out-of-bed story for your list,”_ Jonny warns him, and the mic just manages to pick up Kaner's laugh. 

_”Better hold still then,”_ he says, and starts licking. On the real bed, Jonny shakes off his drowsiness enough to slide down into a better position, one more comfortable for watching the screen while also touching Kaner back. Kaner's nipples are still sticky from last night. 

"Damn," Kaner says on a long breath, eyes dark. Screen-Jonny isn't doing a very good job of holding still after all. He's doing a _great_ job of getting noisier and noisier the closer screen-Kaner gets to his off-limits ass, though. "This was a genius idea, go me." 

"Go you," Jonny agrees, only half sarcastically, and leans in to watch. 

\- 

For once, he wakes up before Kaner. It got fucking cold again in the night - first time Jonny's spared much of a thought for the weather outside for days, the way they've been holed up in here - and next to him Kaner's just a warm lump under the covers, nothing visible of him except one lax hand and a tangle of blonde hair. 

Jonny's still fuzzy-headed, from all the drinking and from a…significantly interrupted night's sleep, and of course he's also still naked and it's freezing outside the bed, so he only gets out of bed long enough to bump up Kaner's thermostat, except then he remembers something else from last night and has to also retrieve his laptop, Kaner's phone, and something to connect the two. 

Back in their cozy nest of covers, he goes to take care of that video before Kaner accidentally uploads it to Twitter or something. Sure enough, the damn thing's not even behind a lock screen or anything. Kaner seriously never learns. 

Jonny does smile a little at the filename: **sapphic slumberparty**. Fucking Kaner. 

**game tape 2014** , he re-labels the copy, for safety's sake, before deleting the original from Kaner's phone. 

The blanket bump that is Kaner stirs, sits up. "Um," it says. "Jonny." 

"Morning," Jonny says absently, now busy sending out a couple emails that can't wait any longer. They mostly have to do with covering up the truth about his 'injury', which is really getting old. Jonny's not a big fan of lying to everyone. 

_”Jonny,”_ Kaner says, and at his stricken tone of voice Jonny turns just in time to see the covers slip down, giving him an eyeful of naked Kaner. 

Naked _male_ Kaner. 

Jonny jerks backwards, sending the laptop flying to the floor, barely noticing it in his haste to scramble as far away as possible from Kaner and Kaner's morning wood. 

"Fuck," says Kaner, making an aborted reaching movement towards him. He's as pale as he was after undergoing the first change - maybe hangovers do carry over after all - and his face is all…if it were Jonny he'd be happy as fuck to have his dick back, but for some reason Kaner looks more like he's about to cry. "Jonny, don't -" 

The still-chilly air sends gooseflesh rippling over his nude body, his nipples are pebbling under Kaner's gaze, everything exposed, he has to cover _up,_ shit, where are his goddamn _pants?_

"For fuck's sake, would you put that thing _away?”_ He finds the pants, finally, wrinkled over the back of a chair - they'd kind of given up on clothes almost entirely, him and Kaner, these last few days, because what was even the point - and yanks them on, pulling the zipper up so fast he nearly pinches some extremely sensitive skin in it, all the while trying not to look anywhere in Kaner's general direction. 

Kaner glances down at his lap and flushes, but only pulls the sheet back up around himself, like his cock is a fucking _afterthought_ here instead of the entire issue in the first place. "Would you quit freaking out? It's not a big deal, come on, we knew this had to happen at some p-" 

"I'm not freaking out!" Jonny barks, wrapping his jacket tight around himself before he begins tossing his various scattered possessions back into his duffel bag at random - his shit is all _over_ Kaner's condo, like he’s some kind of all-but-officially-moved-in girlfriend, Jesus, what have they been _doing?_ "I'm just not into - you _know_ this, we talked about it, I don't - we're not -" 

"You don't have to be an _asshole_ about it!" Kaner pushes the covers back again, fumbling into a discarded pair of boxers, and Jonny has to close his eyes for a moment, because he can't meet Kaner's and he sure doesn't want to see the rest of him. "How is this any different from the locker room? You've been looking at my dick for _years!”_

Jonny flinches too hard to hide, and Kaner says quickly, "No, no, I mean - I didn't mean that the way it came out, I - Jonny, where are you going?" 

Jonny gives up on packing and just grabs the duffel half-full, jamming his feet into the nearest pair of slippers. They're actually Kaner's, but they'll do just fine for the walk of shame down to guest parking. God, and he's rarely been more ashamed. "I gotta get out of here." 

"What the fuck?" Kaner does have tears in his eyes now, angry blue glitter, and Jonny absolutely cannot deal with any of this for one more minute. "What the _fuck,_ it's not like I'd be expecting you to, to keep on laying down for me like this -" and he gestures between, presumably, their now conspicuously non-matching parts - "or whatever the fuck you're _freaking out_ about!" 

It's almost impressive, Jonny thinks deliriously, how every single thing that comes out of Kaner's mouth manages to make things worse. 

"I can't be here," he repeats, going for the door. "I'm sorry." 

It's a miracle he doesn't wrap his car around another L post, he pays so little attention to the drive home. 

\- 

Once he's safely alone in his own place the clawing panic subsides a little, and guilt promptly takes its place. He could have handled that better, probably. 

He wonders if Kaner would have freaked out, too, if Jonny'd been the one to turn back first. Surely he would have. _He's_ the one who’s always making the ‘no homo' jokes, right? 

The regret grows when he wakes up - alone, in a cold bed - on the second day and remembers just how goddamn boring solitary confinement is. He thinks about his own concussion recovery, how it damn near drove him crazy; he thinks about Kaner going it alone for that first week and a half, how lonely and scared his dumb extroverted attention-whorey ass must've been. 

Maybe it wasn't the worst idea ever, sticking this thing out together. It's not as if anyone _else_ would have understood what they were going through, after all. 

It was still definitely the worst idea ever to spend it doing what they did, though. How is he ever supposed to look Kaner in the eye again? 

\- 

Jonny gets texts from both his A's the morning Kaner returns to practice, sees pictures online later. The sight of him back on the ice is both so good and so upsetting that Jonny accidentally gets drunk over it that night. 

His laptop's got a crack across the screen but seems otherwise functional, and so of course his drunk self ends up opening **game tape 2014.mov** , hating himself for it, meaning to delete it right after. 

It's still hot. He wishes it weren't, but it totally, totally is. He watches Kaner laughing underneath him, watches the movement of their mouths together, sloppy with eagerness, and God, he misses Kaner's tits already. For an idle second he wonders if stuff like that carries over, too - if Kaner's still sensitive there now, if nipple sucking still turns his muscles to liquid. If it makes him hard. 

It's so fucked up that all this was happening just a handful of nights ago. 

Onscreen the, uh, action has finally ended, but there's still a couple minutes of video left. Jonny leans forward, squinting - the footage has gone gray and grainy now that the lighting's gone, now that the single lamp's been flicked off and they're passed out in the darkened bedroom. 

There's just barely enough visibility to watch Kaner sigh in his sleep and shift closer to him. In the dark, with the blankets pulled up around them, it's hard to even tell what they are: could be men, could be women. 

He's still drunk when he makes the promised copy - **game tape 2014_1.mov** \- and he's definitely drunk when he emails it to Kaner. 

\- 

He's woken up bright and early the next morning by someone insistently paging his intercom, and when he sits up in bed, face wrinkling in sleepy irritation, he feels the difference _instantly._ That's thanks to his dick, which is really hard, and _that's_ probably thanks to all the drunk dreams he had about lesbian sex with Kaner - 

It takes his still-awakening brain another few seconds to make the connection that having his dick back means he can now actually answer his door, and he tugs on a t-shirt and sweatpants and stumbles out there to do so. 

It's Kaner, who blinks at him. 

"Hey," he says. "You're back." 

Jonny rubs his hand over his jaw, feels the familiar rasp of stubble. "Looks like." 

"Are you gonna run away like a little bitch again?" Kaner demands. "Because that was a dick move." 

Jonny's had days to think about just that. "I know. Sorry." 

"The fuck you are," Kaner says, but he sounds marginally less furious as he shoulders his way into the apartment. He's got an old microwave box in his arms. 

"Here's the rest of your shit you left," he says flatly, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. 

"Thanks." 

"You know, if you're trying to just pretend it never happened, you probably shouldn't have started by sending me our sex tape." Kaner puts a vicious emphasis on the last three words. "I jerked off to that thing twice already." 

"Don't blame you," Jonny says honestly. 

Kaner eyes him narrowly. "We looked good together." 

"Yeah." Jonny blows out a breath just remembering. "Really good." 

"Are you gonna hang onto it?" 

"Yeah. It's on my computer." He hadn't been able to bring himself to delete it after he got off last night, after all. "You?" 

"Uh, _fuck_ yeah." Kaner's lips twitch, almost a smile. His mouth, at least, is exactly the same as on his girl's face. "I've never looked better." 

"Nope," Jonny agrees, deadpan, and there's that lip twitch again. 

"Hell, _you've_ never looked better." 

"Definitely not." 

Kaner's still aggressively close, like he's considering throwing a punch. Jonny feels the automatic thrill of adrenaline that accompanies the moment right before a faceoff, or deciding to drop the gloves. 

"You're, uh, you were better than I'd've thought," he says slowly. "With girls." 

This time it's an actual smile. "It's just killing you to admit that shit, isn't it," Kaner says. 

"Fuck off." 

“It is weird, though, to think that some of the best sex of my life didn't involve my dick.” Kaner’s voice is wistful, as if he’s discussing a real beauty of a game they'd played. 

Jonny rubs his jaw again: square-boned and scratchy, the same comfortable skin he's always lived in. 

"It really was," he says, sighing. “And don't get me wrong, I'm so glad it's over, I can't wait to get back on the ice again with you. But I'm also gonna miss -" 

"Yeah." Kaner sighs too. "Your body was so - fuck, Tazer." 

He's biting his lip a little, and it honestly does look just like it did when he was a girl, and the thing is - Jonny's kissed that mouth and watched it caress him outside and inside, trying to make him feel good, and so at this point he's basically conditioned to stare at it as often as possible. He catches himself a second later, jerks his gaze back up, only to meet Kaner's eyes. 

Raised eyebrows. Pale cool blue underneath, sizing him up. They're the same as before, too. Jonny's seen those eyes dilate in arousal, flutter shut as Kaner comes. 

"One last kiss goodbye?" Kaner says, and someone who knew him less well than Jonny might even buy that casual, joking tone in his voice. "For luck?" 

Well, they could probably use some closure. 

"Eh, why not," he says, and meets Kaner in the middle. 

He means it to be a brief, harmless peck, just enough to show each other that it doesn't work like this. But the thing is that Kaner tastes _exactly_ the same and that makes Jonny's hindbrain start acting up again, so that his body chases the taste for just long enough that Kaner's mouth opens - because when is Kaner's mouth ever _not_ open, seriously - and then once there's actual tongue involved Jonny kind of has to, like, commit to it for just a little bit longer, because otherwise it'll seem like he's freaking out on Kaner once again and Kaner's feelings will be hurt and/or Kaner will make fun of him, neither of which seems like an optimal outcome. 

He tries desperately to focus on all the differences: the soft scrape of stubble where their faces brush together as their mouths meet and part and meet again - the hard breastless press of Kaner's chest against him - hell, the very slight and subtle difference in the scent of Kaner's skin - 

It's not working. This part, at least - the making out, which is becoming increasingly involved the longer he lets it go on, Kaner's hand on the nape of his neck now, hauling him in - it's just close enough to the same thing that he's been getting off on for weeks now, that he's…uh. Apparently, getting off on it. 

His brain screams _Abort!_ like he's about to make a bad pass, and he breaks away from Kaner's mouth, panting, but it's too late: Kaner makes a surprised noise, and Jonny knows he's busted, they were standing too close - 

Kaner bumps his hip experimentally back against Jonny's hard-on, whole face a question Jonny doesn't know how to answer. 

"Jonny?" he says, quietly. 

Jonny's face is flaming, but he makes himself stays still. 

"I don't know either, dude," he says, resolutely not glancing down. "I guess it's just leftover, like -" and, "It'd probably quit once I, y'know, took a look at actual dick." 

Kaner choke-laughs in a way that gives Jonny momentary hope, because it's definitely the opposite of attractive to him. 

"You inviting me to whip it out, Jonny?" he says. "Sit there while you insult my cock _again?”_

"If that's what it takes," Jonny says, "let's just get it over with." 

Kaner does that strangled giggle again, but this time Jonny gets distracted by the way his eyes crinkle with it, his dimples and the quick gold flash of his lashes. That shit was really cute when Kaner was a girl. It's not uncute now. God damn it. 

"Okay, but if you could maybe not literally book it out of the building this time, me and my ego would really appreciate it," he says, and without further preamble he pushes his sweatpants down. 

He's hard, too, dick all thick and flushed, and when Jonny finally glances up from that to his face, Kaner stares defiantly back. 

And, like. It's not that anything about Kaner's junk is hot in and of itself, exactly, but something about the look on Kaner's face - well, Jonny's not booking it out of the building just yet. Nor does his _own_ junk seem to want to budge in the slightest. 

"Jonny?" Kaner's saying again. 

Jonny's silent, and Kaner's gaze sharpens. He grinds that hipbone against Jonny again, right where Jonny's inexplicably persistent hard-on can slide along the V-groove of Kaner's lower abs, and his face goes slack in surprise as he registers the improbable yet undeniable fact of its continued existence. 

"You're not into dudes, Jonny," he says again, slowly, not quite a statement. "I mean neither am I, not really" - _not REALLY?_ Jonny thinks hysterically - "but I think we pretty much established that you're _super_ not into dudes." He's rolling into the motion a little anyway, letting Jonny move with him. Jonny remembers getting off with Kaner just like this, just rubbing up against each other, nothing more. 

"Maybe if you touch it," he says, a little desperately. The revulsion should be kicking in any minute now, right? "Maybe if I touch yours?" 

Kaner laughs, humorless and disbelieving. "Hell, let's go with both," he mutters, and reaches out his right hand to wrap around Jonny, his left to grab Jonny's right and move it to his own cock. 

He squeezes his right hand, slides it up and down, carefully. 

"Tapping out yet?" he checks, after another couple of slow strokes. 

Jonny's keeping his own hand very, very still. 

"Not yet," he mutters. 

"Hm." Kaner jerks his chin impatiently down at his own dick. "Jack it or let it go, Taze, c'mon." 

Jonny snorts. "Nice dirty talk," he says, to distract himself from how his body seems to be opting for the former. Chirping Kaner, at least, he already knows he likes. And already knows how to do. 

Which is more than he can say for anything else that's going on here. 

"Like I'm gonna bring my A-game for someone who's not gonna follow through," Kaner chirps back, and Jonny says, "Like you have an A-game in the first place." 

"That's not what you said the other week," Kaner retorts; but when Jonny twists his wrist his smug voice cracks, and he wants to do it again until Kaner starts up with that throaty gasping and then slowly, surely goes speechless - 

just the way Jonny's already heard, the way Jonny already knows he can be. 

\- 

"I bet you can't even keep it up long enough to come," Kaner whispers in his ear. 

Jonny turns his face into Kaner's neck, and closes his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is a story about two straight guys, or guys who think of themselves as straight, undergoing (temporary) spontaneous magical sex changes and as a result having to deal with suddenly being attracted to both their own and each other's bodies.
> 
> as such, it involves pervasive female objectification, gender dysphoria, gay panic, and various other flavors of misogyny/homophobia/probably transphobia if you squint. there's also some mild dubcon - both the sexual harassment/pressuring variety, and the otherwise-consensual-sex-under-the-influence variety.
> 
> constructive feedback is always welcome!


End file.
